Kite
by RockinJanelle
Summary: Castiel learns how to fly a kite. Amnesiac!Castiel.


**Title:** "Kite"  
**Pairing:** Amnesiac!Cas  
**TV Show:** Supernatural  
**Word Count:** ~700  
**Rating:** K+

**A/N: Just a little Castiel drabble I did a while back. I actually posted this to my LJ account a month or two ago, but hey, just something that came up one day. Actually, this little drabble was born when we all believed Cas would have amnesia (and he did, but mine is set in the mental hospital). It's a bit depressing.**

**Enjoy!**

**x x x x x x x x x x x**

He doesn't know what is in his hands. "It's a kite," the girl tells him. She is a nurse. Yes, she must be, she looks so nice compared to the others in the courtyard. Plus, he thinks she's been helping him recover—whatever that means. He's still trying to piece together what is broken in order to recover from it.

But he looks out at the people around. They're trapped, just like he is. Four walls connected to make a small area for fresh air; it's not the best, but it will do. Some are pacing back and forth, talking to themselves, twitching their hands against their heads and whispering to the wind; others are staring out into a black void. He, at least, can appreciate the beauty of the world, appreciate the freedom the outside life has to offer instead of the trapped walls inside.

The girl shifts; he looks back down at this kite. He feels the material. It's soft, light, and does not appear to be durable. The girl holds out a wooden item. "Would you like me to show you how to use it?"

He nods. He watches her stand, the sun beaming behind her, and she looks down. "Well, get up, silly! You need to help me!" He, of course, is willing to oblige; he loves helping others, as though it is in his blood. He feels the wooden item in his hands; it's very smooth, something he doesn't expect. "Now," she says to him, "I need to go over there, but, once I say 'pull', you need to pull on the strings as hard as you can, okay?" He nods. He understands. So she smiles.

And off she runs with the kite.

He feels the white string coiled around the item want to run with her. It tightens with each step she takes, slowly but surely running with her. And as he watches her run, he can't help but wonder why the kite looks so—so familiar. It's nothing much; just a white cloth with sticks attached. But it's eating away at him as she runs off.

Suddenly, he jerks forward a bit. He can see her smiling face peek out from the kite, holding out a hand. "Alright, are you ready?" she yells. He doesn't exactly know what to expect, but he senses he'll get the hang of it. He's not sure if she sees the nod he gives, but she hides back behind the kite. "Okay!"

The wind picks up; a recollection.

"Pull!"

He pulls the string as hard as he can. The wind pushes him back more, but the string starts to rise. His eyes follow it up to the sky and watches the kite soar. He can't take his eyes off of it, not even when the girl comes back to his side. "There we go! Great job!" All he can do is watch it spin and dance with the wind, twirling and swirling with the clouds up above. It feels—unbelievable.

He feels her hand against his back, but he ignores it. Somehow, he remembers feeling this way some years ago, just like the kite. He remembers being free with the wind, following it wherever it blew, no matter the danger or incapability he possessed at the time. Perhaps this is the feeling they want him to remember.

He knows the girl is still standing there, watching the kite dance for them, but how he wishes he could be alone with this feeling he has lost. How he wishes the hand on his back would turn into wings so he could—so he could fly. So he could be free. So he could see the stars and the Heavens above and feel them at his fingertips at last. So he could see just how fluffy his own cloud could be, if he could rest with the other angels high above. Ah, what a wonderful feeling, he thinks. He should take care to remember it.

He will tell her he would very much like to fly the kite again tomorrow.

But, for now, he relishes in the solemnity he likes to call home.


End file.
